She Dug It The Most

There’s something about a cross-eyed dame, he thought as his fingers moved across the keys, light, automatic for they knew the way through the Storyville byways of cathouse jazz, the deft left hand pumping out a thumping beat.

“Ca-razy,” she said, closing her eyes as if in pain. She bit down on her lip and bounced about in time. Everything about her jiggled, but he kept waiting for the moment when her eyes would flash open, as they did on the down beats, in all their cross-eyed goofery.

“What is this!” she cried, twirling her shoulders as she bowed to and fro..

“The classics” he replied, and then recited a long name in guttural German. “But right now, doll,” he said. “It’s my ode to joy!”